Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I brace myself in a lunge, out of breath. I glare at Tom. “You would risk being taken advantage of, but you wouldn’t risk kissing me. Got it.”
His face breaks. “Dude, I’m messing with you. Just…breathe.” He tries to pass me the water like I’m dehydrated.
I push it back into his face. Gently. So he doesn’t fall.
Tom puts the rim to his mouth, swigs, then says, “RJ is nice. He wouldn’t take advantage of me. I believe that.”
“I don’t trust nice guys.” I sip his vodka, just so he drinks less.
Tom doesn’t even notice. “Why? Because you’re a big fucking meanie?” He almost trips over his feet, but I catch his hip.
He’s a stupid, cute drunk. This is terrible on so many levels. “Because it usually means they’re hiding something. Seeing as how you don’t know jack-shit about him—”
“I know he’s Russian-American,” Tom mimes a mic drop. “There’s that, bitch.”
“Jesus.” I grind away my smile. “How’d you uncover this if you don’t even know his last name?”
“He has a cousin in the ballet.” Right, I’ve heard Tom’s brother, Beckett, is a principal dancer at NYBC. Mutual connections, I’m guessing.
Tom places the Aquafina on the table. “If there’s a mystery that needs to be cracked, I’ll crack it.”
He wants to be the one to. Otherwise, he could’ve found more answers from his security detail or from his brother.
I nod to him. “Because you’ve done a great job at that after two years. Hey, what’s his name again?”
“You don’t think I asked?” Tom extends his arm across the table. “I have like…five times. But he always drowns out my questions with…” His voice trails off as he sees RJ approaching with two beers in hand. Tom straightens out of his slouch against the table. He was one second from laying his head against his arm.
Now, he draws farther away from me, and my hand slips off his side. I smother the urge to slip my fingers into his waistband and pull him back toward me.
Tom didn’t need to finish his sentence. I can imagine RJ kissing him to avoid turning what they have into something more personal. And based on everything he’s told me, I know Tom craves an emotional connection. RJ isn’t reciprocating, but Tom still seeks him out…in what? Hopes that changes?
RJ places the two beers on the table, and as he slides a Koning Lite to Tom, I steal it.
“Thanks,” I say dryly. “You shouldn’t have.” I take a tight swig.
“That’s because I didn’t,” RJ says nonchalantly, no heat to his voice. He sees Tom swaying (and not to the music), and he up-nods to me again. “Probably a good call.” Then he rests a casual arm around Tom’s waist. His lips dip down to Tom’s ear as he whispers something.
I watch RJ’s arm ascending. He wraps it more firmly around Tom’s shoulders, bracing him from falling by tucking him to his side, and as he kisses Tom’s temple, it feels like my soul leaves my body.
I blink a few times and rip at the Koning label on the bottle. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were a couple.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. “So your name is RJ?” I steal his attention, but he doesn’t drop his arm off Tom. “That short for something?”
“Yeah, a mouthful of a name.” He tips the beer to his lips, taking a small sip.
“Great, what is it?” I ask roughly.
Tom’s eyes blow wide open at me like I’m going to scare off his hookup. Now there’s an idea I can rock with.
RJ eyes the dance floor, bobbing his head to the music. “I’m getting the sense you don’t like me, man.”
“Well, I wasn’t trying to come in like a fucking feather duster.” I stare him down. “Sorry if you like being tickled.”
He lets out a long whistle. “Damn.” RJ smiles at Tom. “You picked up another asshole drummer? Did he get assigned to you?”
Tom’s lips slowly part in shock. “You know about my drummer problem?”
“Yeah,” RJ laughs. “I do listen to you.”
I bet Tom does not fucking shut up in bed. My throat tries to close. My eyes feel dry and raw, like I haven’t slept for four days straight. Jealousy simultaneously boils my blood and flattens me like roadkill. I feel crushed.
And angry. Because RJ doesn’t deserve to hear about Tom’s issues when he’s unwilling to meet him on the same level.
“Hey,” I call out to RJ, recapturing his gaze as I force out, “This asshole drummer is sticking the fuck around. So give me your name if you want to keep touching my singer.”
“Your singer,” he repeats.
“Yeah, mine.” I skewer him with one fatal look.
RJ swallows a stiff sip of beer, then rubs his lips with the heel of his palm. “Full name is Nikolai Rurik Kotova Junior. But no one calls me Nikolai. That’s my dad’s name. RJ is easier, and like I said, less of a fucking mouthful. And before you ask, I am Russian-American. Emphasis on American because when my family immigrated here, they took the feminine form of the name legally. So no, I am not Kotov even though I’m a guy. I am legally Kotova.” He hikes his brows in irritation. “Any other questions?”